


Going Under

by WildwingSuz



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, MSR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7917085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildwingSuz/pseuds/WildwingSuz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Scully says thank you after Mulder rescues her from Antarctica.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Under

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes:  I got the idea for this while watching Fight the Future for the umpteenth time.  I did my best to stay within canon so that this should fit in between when we see them on the edge of the crater and Scully in the OPR hearing. 
> 
> The title comes from the song by Evanescence.
> 
> Spoilers: You should have seen at least the first movie to get this.

 

Thanks once again to Mimic117, who betas like no one’s business.

 

 **Going Under**  
Rated PG  
Suzanne L. Feld

 

 

Though I’d walked down this hallway many a time in the last five years, this was the first occasion I had ever done so without a case file in hand or an excuse in mind or being consumed with worry about her.  No, this time Scully had invited me over for dinner and while I believed that she wanted to thank me for rescuing her from Antarctica, I also wondered if she had an ulterior motive.  Was this her way of gently breaking it to me that she still wanted out of the FBI?

 

Or did it have something to do with the aborted hallway kiss?  I was both hopeful and dreading that she might bring it up; I had no idea what I’d do now that the moment was past.  I still didn’t quite understand my own motivation for suddenly wanting to kiss her, other than desperation.  And I was sure that there was more to it than that, but didn’t want to look too closely at what it might be. 

 

On the flight back from King George Island Scully had mentioned that saying thank you wasn’t enough for my tracking her down in Antarctica, even if we were partners and saving each other was what we did.  I countered with a quip about a home-cooked dinner being a good start and to my surprise, she’d agreed. Even when I told her that I was just joking, she insisted.  Twist my arm.

 

Since we’d gotten out of the hospital two days ago we hadn’t talked or seen each other until Scully called me this morning about dinner tonight.  I had planned to go to the OPR hearing with her, even though I wasn’t a part of it, just for support and to see how it worked out.  I hadn’t expected to see her before then, and when she opened the door I realized that she didn’t look much better than when we’d left DC General where we’d been checked out upon our return to the U.S.  She still had burst capillaries in her cheeks and her lips were chapped raw from frostbite, though I could see from the shininess on those areas that she was using the medicated cream that they’d given her at the hospital.

 

Scully was wearing another of her ubiquitous long-sleeved button-down sweaters, this one a soft blue, with a pair of snug, faded-almost-white denim jeans.  Over them she wore a ruffled red and green apron that had a few old stains, and from where I stood I could see that the ribbon around her waist tied into a giant bow behind her back.  I wanted to make a smart remark but decided that it wasn’t a good idea when she was the one cooking dinner.  On the Vineyard children learned young the art and craft of being both a gracious host and a good guest.  And good guests didn’t heckle their hosts.  Still, it was clearly a Christmas apron, and I really had to bite my tongue between wanting to make a smart remark and wondering why she was wearing it in July.  It didn’t occur to me until later that, perhaps, it was the only one she had.

 

“Mulder.  Come on in.  Dinner’s almost ready if you don’t mind helping me finish setting the table.”  She walked away, slender hips swaying beneath the giant, ridiculous red bow.

 

I closed the door behind myself.  “You invite me over, then put me to work?” I said in a carefully amused voice.  “Some host you are.”  I noticed that classic rock music was playing low from the stereo in the living room, just loud enough to be heard.

 

“Hostess.”  Her voice floated from the other room as I walked through the dining room and into the kitchen.  God, did it smell good. I saw a couple of lidded pans on the stove and the oven light lit although I couldn’t make out what was in there.  “Quit complaining and put the plates out.”

 

Grinning, I took the dinner plates she handed me and carried them into the dining room.  Everything else was in place, the shining wooden table neatly set with cloth placemats and napkins, a pair of narrow-hipped wineglasses to boot.  I had asked if I could bring something to drink but she told me not to, that she had everything and to just bring myself.  Still, I felt like a bad guest showing up empty-handed.  “Would you like me to open the wine?” I went back into the kitchen, then dodged as she moved past me with a bowl of what appeared to be mashed potatoes.  Or at least I hoped they were.

 

“Sure, it’s on the counter over there.” She jerked her chin towards the other side of the room as she disappeared around the archway.   I found a cool, damp-beaded bottle of red Zinfandel next to the fridge, and was about to sneak a peek in the oven on the way to get the corkscrew when she came back in, removing the thick oven mitts.  “Let it breathe for a minute or two before pouring, Mulder.  I had it in the fridge for an hour or so, and it should be warmed up just right by now.  A good Zinfandel shouldn’t be chilled, but cooler than room temperature.”

 

I was impressed; I had no idea Scully was a wine connoisseur.  Though we had shared hundreds of meals over the last five years, this was the first time either of us had cooked for the other in one of our homes.  “Red wine, I’m going to guess beef or maybe pork,” I said as I wrestled the cork carefully out of the bottle.  “You obviously know better than to serve it with chicken.”

 

She flashed me a wan ghost of a smile as she poured a thick, lumpy, molten liquid from a saucepan into a fragile-looking gravy boat.  “T-bone steaks,” she said.  “And mushroom gravy with fresh sautéed mushrooms.  I don’t have steak often, but when I do, I make it worth the damage to my arteries.  And I know it’s your favorite.”

 

I grinned at her before I carried the open bottle to the table and set it between our plates.  “Thanks, Scully,” I said, deliberately tamping down my usual smartass and/or lewd remarks.  Tonight, and probably only tonight, would I do that for her.  I was catching on that she didn’t appear to be having as good of a time as I was, and wondered why she had invited me over if, perhaps, she really didn’t want me here.  I could only hope that she didn’t think my joking remark about making dinner was a prelude to something else, or that she had to since I had tried to kiss her.  But I was afraid to bring it up and wreck the comfortable mood between us.  “Anything else?”

 

“Sit down and stay out of my way,” her voice said from the other room with muted humor.  “I’ll put you to work after dinner.”

 

I groaned loudly, knowing it was expected.  She reappeared, this time holding the gravy boat in one hand and a clear glass carafe of yellowish liquid in the other.  “This is my homemade poppy seed dressing,” she said as she put it down near my plate, the gravy next to it.  “If you don’t like it, I do have store-bought Italian and ranch.”

 

“I hope I’m not supposed to put that on my steak,” I joked as she turned to go back into the kitchen.  So much for behaving myself.  “I don’t see a salad anywhere.”

 

“You keep it up and you’ll be wearing it,” she warned, but I could tell her heart wasn’t in the banter.  I wasn’t sure why she seemed so down, and hoped it wasn’t anything I was doing.  She appeared yet again, this time carrying two salads in shallow blue glass bowls.

 

“Scully, I hate just sitting here, let me help,” I said, feeling like a big useless lummox.

 

“Almost done, Mulder.  My kitchen isn’t big enough for two,” she said as I took the bowls from her and set them by our places.  “This is easier; trust me, I know from experience. Go ahead and pour the wine, why don’t you?”

 

I wondered if ‘from experience’ she meant having other men over for dinner and felt an unaccountable stab of jealousy, but then was distracted from the thought.  She came around the archway carrying a large, flat pan with oven-gloved hands.  It was lined with tinfoil and had a spidery rack on it, on which rested two large T-bone steaks.  “Sit back, sit back,” she said as she forked the larger of the two steaks onto my waiting plate, then put the other on hers.  “Go ahead, get started,” she said, carrying the pan away. 

 

“Wow, Scully, what a spread,” I said, pouring the deep ruby wine into our glasses.  “Remind me to rescue you from alien spaceships more often.”

 

She came back carrying a small, fabric-lined basket which held four slices of thick garlic bread by the smell, setting it on one of the glass squares between our plates.  “I’d cook every damn day if it would get me out of having to go through that again,” she retorted, taking off her apron and tossing it over the back of the empty chair next to her as she sat down across from me.  “Like I told you in the hospital I don’t remember a lot of it, but my esophagus still feels scraped raw and I have some damned odd marks on my arms and legs. Whatever that was out there, they did some nasty shit to me.  Again.”

 

We had been debating over what exactly transpired since she had become conscious enough to bicker with me.  Normally I would have continued the debate after that opening, but I had promised myself to be on my best behavior tonight.  Instead of answering I cut and took a bite of steak.  It burst with a rich, deliciously smoky flavor on my tongue, then all but melted.  It was cooked just the way I liked it, medium rare.  “Holy Christ!” I exclaimed without thinking.  “Wow, Scully, I swear that this is the best steak I’ve ever had.  How did you cook it?”

 

She flushed, but was honestly smiling as she poured the gravy, lumpy with chunks of mushroom but otherwise smooth, onto her mashed potatoes.  “Why thank you, Mulder.  We have a communal charcoal grill out in the back, and I grilled the steaks earlier and kept them warm in the oven.  Have plenty of potatoes, I made far more than I should have.”

 

I wanted to gobble down the meat, it was so good, but I made myself take just one more bite before I reached for the other dishes.  After that we ate in a comfortable silence, though the gravy did seem a bit bland to me.  I didn’t see a salt shaker and wanted to ask for it, but also didn’t want her to think I didn’t like it.  I made sure to have a second helping of potatoes but didn’t add the gravy. 

 

“I hope you saved some room for dessert,” Scully said after our steaks were reduced to a single bone on each of our plates.  I had all but scraped off the top layer of my dish with the last of the garlic bread getting every tiny bit of the red steak juice.  I’d even liked her homemade dressing and eaten all of my salad, even though it normally wasn’t my favorite.

 

I groaned.  “I really didn’t, but I’ll make an exception.”

 

She chuckled drily.  “No worries.  I got sorbet from the Italian grocery down the street, it’ll clear our palates without filing us up.  Did you want lime or strawberry?”

 

“Mmn.  Lime, unless you want it.”  I wasn’t usually so thoughtful but then, this was a special occasion.

 

“I prefer the strawberry, so that works.”  I helped her stack the plates, which she then carried off to the kitchen.

 

While she was gone I topped off our glasses with the last of the Zinfandel, a little surprised to see that we’d drunk the entire bottle.  But due to the rich, heavy food I didn’t feel even the tiniest bit tipsy. 

 

She came back into the room carrying a pair of fluted clear glass dessert dishes, setting one before me.  “I’ve got coffee brewing, if you want some after.”

 

“I’m gonna need it so I can stay awake on the drive home.”  I sampled the sorbet, finding it tart and refreshing.  There was a bare scoop in each dish, about all I could handle after that meal.  “You know, Scully, you always joke about having to exercise to work off meals but now I find myself thinking that I’ll need to after that.  It was excellent.”

 

She looked interested.  “Maybe we could go running sometime… depending on the hearing tomorrow,” she said, her face going from pleased to unhappy.  The OPR meeting was in the morning, I remembered.  No wonder she was acting so weird, but I had no idea what to say regarding it.

 

Instead I forged ahead, pretending I didn’t notice her mood change.  “I’d like that, maybe we could meet at the Tidal Basin and go for a run around it one of these days,” I said, polishing off the last spoonful of sorbet.  In the silence that followed my statement, I heard the coffeepot burble, signaling that it was done.  Another song started up from the living room as I was getting to my feet.  “Stay put, Scully, I’ll serve the coffee.  I know where everything is and you’ve probably been on your feet for a while, so relax.”

 

“Since when did you get so thoughtful, Mulder?  You’re not a Reticulan pretending to be my partner, are you?”

 

I laughed.  “From what I hear, Reticulans are more likely to probe you than serve you coffee,” I called back over my shoulder.  She already had everything out on a little tray next to the Mr. Coffee, so I just filled our cups and carried it back to the table.  I wanted to make a risqué remark along the lines of “I wouldn’t mind probing you,” but reminded myself for the umpteenth time to behave.  It was getting annoying, though. I felt like I couldn’t be myself.  Still, it wouldn’t kill me for one evening, just a couple of hours, to keep my mouth in check.

 

We sat in silence and drank our coffee, and oddly enough it wasn’t uncomfortable.  Scully and I had spent so much time together without talking that it wasn’t anything unusual.  I was mostly listening to the music, which seemed to be a mix tape or one of those different-songs-on-one that they sold on TV, different bands and singers but all older classic rock that I recognized.  And liked; she had really gone all-out for me, it seemed.

 

But as the silence stretched on I did begin to get uncomfortable.  Dinner was over.  Now what?  My thoughts wandered back to the almost-kiss in my hallway, just about a week ago.  I still didn’t quite understand what I had been doing; was I so desperate for her not to go that I would have risked our friendship, our partnership, which was probably the deepest and most profound human connection I had ever had, for a one-night stand?  I hadn’t followed her into the hallway with the intention of seducing her, but as I gazed down into her eyes I’d realized just how deeply I felt for her and acted on it. 

 

I glanced up while thinking of how she’d been looking at me, the expression in her beautiful eyes as I leaned down to kiss her… and found her staring back at me across the table.  Our gaze held for a long second, and in that shining moment I probably could have leaned over and finished the kiss we started in the hallway.  My heart jumped and began to pound.  But I didn’t move, and dropped my eyes first.  Bwak-bwak-bwak.  “Well,” I said heartily, a bit too loud perhaps, pushing my chair back with a loud scraping sound as I stood without thinking about it.  “Fun as it’s been, I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

 

 Scully’s face went from what I assumed was thoughtful to obviously still and closed like a door slamming shut, and I cursed myself silently.  But I couldn’t deal with this right now, not with the troublesome possibilities that tomorrow’s OPR meeting held and my confusing emotions about her.  I barely paused to say thank you again before I scuttled towards the door. 

 

“Hey, Mulder?” 

 

“Yeah, Scully?” I paused and looked back at her, already angry at myself for my cowardice.

 

“Thanks for coming, and I appreciate your restraint.  I did notice the marked lack of innuendo tonight.”  She was heartbreakingly lovely in the dim light, her hair shining a deep coppery red. 

 

“Well… I didn’t want you to think… anyway, goodnight,” I said, turning and all but running down the hallway, berating myself the whole time.  What kind of fucking dork did she now think I was?  Could I be any more idiotic, or awkward?  Where was the desperation and bravery that had fueled my attempt to kiss her?  Why in the hell was I running from my partner, when I hoped to keep her as such?  Or did I?

 

I had no answers.  But I knew where I was going, anywhere that a whiskey bottle waited and I could forget that I had ever asked those questions… and that I hadn’t stayed to help with the dishes.

 

_Finis_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
